Merry Bleeping  Christmas!
by BFangz
Summary: It's Christmas eve and the CBI gang is ready for a break.  Of course there will be gift giving and the normal holiday depression.  How will Jane cope with another Christmas alone? Or will he be alone? Logically follows "Bad day at UC Davis Medical Center"
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: It's Christmas eve and the CBI gang is ready for a break. Of course there will be gift giving and the normal holiday depression. How will Jane cope with another Christmas alone?**_

**Merry Bleeping Christmas  
**

Patrick Jane stared out of the CBI windows at the festive street, below. He shook his head slowly musing on the folly of the good cheer and joyous bursts of revelry. He knew that he shouldn't be so bitter, so jaded, but it was impossible to be otherwise. Every bell, every sound, was like a knife opening wounds of what should be, what could have been if he'd not been so stupid and arrogant. His face was bleak as he surveyed the scene below.

Christmas eve was not his favorite time of year. The reminders of the family that he'd had and lost were to raw and too poignant. The level of pain was almost physical and excruciating. Briefly, he wondered, "How much longer? How much longer will I have to endure this?"

"Merry Christmas, Jane," Patrick heard Rigsby say." He turned to face his smling colleague, his face morphing from utter moroseness to one of reasonable holiday cheer. "Back at you, Rigsby, back at you!" Jane saw the extended hand holding the small box. He lifted his eyebrows and looked surprised. "For me?"

Rigsby grinned. "It is that time of year."

Jane smiled and accepted the gift.

"Now, you can't open it until Christmas morning. That's the rule,"

Jane grimaced. "OK, I hear you, now, but I'm not so tough." He grinned. "Check your shirt pocket."

Wayne frowned and reached into his shirt pocket. "What's this, "he muttered, extracting two pieces of paper. He stared at them blankly. "How... How... How did you get these tickets, and how did you even know how hard I'd been trying to score some?" His expression was priceless.

This time, Jane's smile was genuine. "Why, it's magic of course. I made an arrangement with the man in red, and this is what we came up with."

Wayne carefully put the precious tickets back into his pocket, patting them to make sure they were secure. "Jane, you really are amazing, thank you!"

Before Patrick could respond, Wayne, in a burst of gratitude, grabbed him and hugged him. Patrick's arms were pinned to his side and his face showed utter confusion and shock.

Grace walked by and snickered, "You guys want to get a room?"

Patrick's glare at her only heightened her amusement.

Breaking the embrace, Wayne held Jane at arm's length. "Seriously, Dude, thank you. This means more to me than you'll ever know." He returned to his desk, protecting his pocket with one hand.

Patrick shook his head. "Jocks," he muttered. "Pull a few strings to get some scarce tickets, and they fall apart on you." But his face has softened, and his expression was more cheerful.

oOo

The CBI office party had been nice. There were no fights, no one got falling down drunk, and no one got caught having illicit sexual relations with a coworker! It was one of the best Christmas Eve parties in years.

Lisbon was at the door with the breathalyzer, checking everyone as they left. Anyone blowing above a .06 had their keys impounded and had a cab called to take them home. So far, that had been a low percentage.

"This is not necessary," Patrick insisted to Lisbon.

Lisbon's face was steel. "Necessary or not, you will blow into the tube or I will arrest you if you try to leave."

"You are violating my constitutional rights, you know," Jane told her.

"You work for me, Jane. Inside this office, I say what your rights are, and right now I'm telling you that you have the right to blow into this tube. Now fasten our lips around it and BLOW!"

Jane lifted his eyes to heaven, shrugged and sighed, "What I have to go through as a public servant" He blew into the tube.

Lisbon frowned. "Do that again, Jane. I think it was off, somehow."

He grinned and did as commanded.

"Ok, Jane, you are messing with me. How did you do it," she asked.

Jane laughed. "It was easy! I didn't have anything to drink."

She glared at him. "So why all this constitutional crap?"

He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "I like messing with you! That's my present to you." He grinned and left the office.

Lisbon glared after him, but then smiled. "Patrick Jane," she muttered. "One of a kind!" Staring at his retreating back, her face softened into an expression that few would ever see. "You just wait," she thought. "Wait till you see what I have planned for you!

oOOo

**A/N: A Teaser of what's to come. Review please! More to follow soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thanks to all for the reviews, and yes, Lisbon69, I am back! :) I'll try to be more frequent with my postings. I got distracted.**_

**Merry Bleeping Christmas  
**

Outside CBI, the festive air permeated Patrick's being like a suffocating blanket, reminding him of what he'd lost and how he'd lost it. It was chilly and the wind was whipping up trash from the street, causing a bleakness that matched his mood. As early as it was, the stars were shining and the moon was plainly visible. As usual, he was not dressed for actual chilly weather, so he pulled his suit jacket tighter around him and hunched into it, trying to conserve body heat.

He looked around and fastened his eyes on his favorite liquor store. They carried some of the best scotch he'd ever tasted. He hesitated, but a gust of wind made a retreat to the warm shop seem like a good idea.

The bell tinkled over the door as he entered. That was one of the things he liked about this shop. There was no sensor, no electronic ping, just the homey sound of little brass bell. The shopkeeper looked up and smiled. "Oh, hello, Mr. Jane. I was hoping you'd come in when the party was over. I'm looking forward to closing up shop early, today." He reached under the counter. "Here you go, Sir," he said withdrawing a brightly wrapped box, about the size of a 1.75 liter bottle. "I think you find this quite satisfactory."

He masked his look of confusion, not wanting to reveal that he had no clue about what was going on. As he reached for his wallet, the shopkeeper raised a hand and smile. "It's all taken care of. You have a very merry Christmas, now."

Patrick pasted a smile on his face. "Thank you, and you have the same. I guess it'll be next year by the time I see you again, so you be good to yourself."

The shopkeeper smiled and nodded and winked. Jane turned, allowed his face to return to normal and slowly exited the shop, bracing himself against the chill. Hurrying to his car, he wondered who had paid for the the "gift" he'd just received. "Guess I'll find out when I get home," he mused. He grimaced. The word home had some bad connotations.

He'd rented an apartment, not too far from the CBI office and spent most of his time there. He'd discontinued all but essential services on the house. While he wasn't desperate for money, unnecessary expenses just didn't make sense. He waked into the cold, dark house, seeing, in his minds eye, the room upstairs. The one with the big red smiley face in it. It was no longer red, but more of a dark, flaking rust, now. Dried blood does deteriorate with age. Like the body it was once part of, time will render it only a dim memory, if remembered at all.

Jane carefully placed the package on the telephone table and made the trek to the basement. Using a penlight flash, he found the switch for the small heating plant and turned it on. The quick flash of ignition signaled that it was still working. He plodded back upstairs, relieved that, at least, he wouldn't be freezing.

He retrieved the package and went into the kitchen. Opening the package he sharply inhaled. It was a bottle of Glenfiddich 30 year old Scotch Whisky. He held up the deep amber bottle and gazed through it. "Bet this cost over three hundred dollars," he speculated. "My Santa is definitely generous." He felt a brief stab of regret when he realized it was only 750 milliliters. He shrugged. "This will do well enough, I'm sure!" A flicker of a smile formed oh so briefly. He put a glass over the neck of the bottle and headed to the room. That's how he thought of it. "The Room." With capital letters.

The door creaked as he entered The Room. He stood in the cloying darkness. A cloud cover had formed so the ambient light was minimal. He sighed and flipped the light switch. The intense flash of a bulb self destructing momentarily blinded him, briefly making him wonder if he'd walked into a trap. He froze until his night vision returned and realized that it was just the bulb blowing. He walked across the room, not really needing any light, to find and light a small lamp. It had been used as a night light, so it was very dim, but offered enough light to make out the horrid smile on the wall.

He carefully removed the glass from the scotch bottle, placing it on the table. He opened the scotch and poured three quarters of a glass. He carefully closed the bottle, picked up the glass and inhaled deeply of the aroma. He nodded. "Excellent," he thought. A sip confirmed that the taste was fully compliant with the aroma, which was beyond compare. He nodded and took a slow, long sip from the glass, reducing the level by half. He shook his head and exhaled through his mouth and inhaled through his nose, avoiding sucking alcohol fumes into his lungs. He gave a brief shudder and set the glass next to the bottle in it's wooden case.

The glow from the scotch was almost immediate. He could feel some tension washing from his body. "I really do need to learn to relax more. Maybe Lisbon is right and I should take yoga with her. He got a flash of Lisbon in tight leotards and shook his head. "Maybe not. That could produce more tension."

He walked over to the wall with the smiley on it and reached under the pillow on the bed below. He removed a highly polished wooden box and opened it. He smiled and withdrew the intensely blued Colt .45 hand gun from it. He took the clip from the box and slid it into the pistol. Working the slide, he jacked a round into the chamber. He stepped back and assumed a double handed grip and aimed between the eyes of the smiley face.

"You'd almost think that I know what I'm doing wouldn't you? But then you might notice that it's not cocked so I couldn't really fire it." He lowered the gun. "Well, I don't want to blow a hole in my wall, and I really do know what I'm doing, now. I'm a quick study, given incentive." He grimaced. "I have incentive. YOU gave me incentive, you son of a bitch! You, and you'll regret that. You will regret it."

He tucked the loaded gun into his belt at the small of his back and walked back to the table on which the scotch was sitting. Picking it up, he inhaled the bouquet, again, before finishing the glass. The second half of the glass went down easily and smoothly, leaving the intensely pleasant scotch after taste. "Fantastic," he breathed.

He was standing at the window, staring into the darkness, wondering how it feel to have Red John before him, .45 cocked and aimed at his body. "Quickly or one body part at a time," he mused. "One body part at a time," he thought, nodding. "I've been told the knees are a good starting point. Excruciatingly painful with the added advantage of making flight impossible." He grinned. "The knees it will be!"

The sudden sounding of the doorbell caused him to wheel, draw the big .45 and cock it in one smooth easy movement that screamed, "Hours of practice! Hours of practice!" The doorbell sounded again, making him feel sort of sheepish. "Coming," he shouted, lowering the hammer and tucking it back in its concealed location.

"Now, who the hell can that be," he wondered as he carefully approached the door, one hand on the pistol, wondering if this was a trap.

oOOOo

A/N: The poor guy just can't get a decent break, can he? Thoughts? Comments? **REVIEWS!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Merry Bleeping Christmas  
**

He stared as the door, as if it might be something that was going to eat him. The bell rang again. CBI had taught him to not just stand in front of a door and ask who is there. A door is a poor shield if the person on the other side has bad intentions. Standing to one side of the door, where the wall was the thickest, he called, "Coming! Who is it?"

"Come on Jane. Open the damn door. It's cold out here!" Lisbon's irritated with Jane tone was unmistakable.

A quizzical look crossed his face and he did open the door and stepped back to allow her free entry and to be able to observe beyond her, even though the tone of her voice indicated that she was acting of her own volition, and not being forced to do anything.

She stepped in, closed the door behind her and shuddered. When does California get this damn cold?" She looked at him, glared really. "Well, I'm happy to see you too, Jane."

He shook his head and smiled. "Well, Merry Bleeping Christmas to you too, Lisbon. And pardon me. My mind really was a million miles away." He focused fully on her. "Just what are you doing here on this _loverly _Christmas Eve?"

"Oh, good. You have the heat on. I saw smoke or steam from the chimney and was hoping." She shrugged out of a jacket far too light for the weather. "Do I need a special reason to visit a friend on Christmas Eve," she asked, handing him her jacket.

He took it and hung it in a small closet not too far from the door. "No, I guess not, but you always have reasons for what you do. That's one of the things that make you so easy to read. You're never random."

"I'm easy to read? I am easy to read?" She grinned. "Like you aren't?"

He grinned a genuine Jane grin and shook his head indicating negative. "You don't stand a mark's chance at carney of reading me! Don't fool yourself"

"It's still chilly in here," she said changing the subject. "Don't you have anything to keep us warm?"

He stared at her and gave a sly grin. "Oddly enough I do! I have some of the best Scotch that I've ever tasted in my life. Some wonderful Santa seems to have given me a gift."

Lisbon smiled and conspicuously did not ask who the Santa was. "You are going to share," she hinted.

"I think that could be arranged. Stay here." He went into the kitchen and retrieved another glass. "This way," he said heading toward The Room. "It's this way."

They walked into The Room, lit only by the tiny night light, Jane going over to the stand, where the Scotch was sitting. "How much," he asked, holding the glass up.

"Four fingers," she quickly replied. "I want to warm up."

He nodded and smiled. "Four fingers? You're the boss." He turned and poured. As he was pouring, his vest rode up, making the .45 in his belt obvious to Lisbon. She frowned, pursed her lips and gently blew out, a nervous habit she'd indulge in sometimes, when stressed.

He turned and smiled. "Careful, now. That was four of MY fingers. I figured a good Irish Lady can hold her liquor.

She nodded. "I can, and thank you." She took a sip. She smiled and took a second sip. "OK, Jane, big question here. What's that in you pants?"

He looked shocked. "In my pants?"

"Yes, Jane," her irritated Lisbon voice appearing. "That lump in your pants."

"Ah, um," Jane coughed, and glancing down, to make sure his trousers weren't unzipped. "What kind of a question is **that**?"

Lisbon looked even more irritated. "In the back of your pants, Dummy. The about colt .45 sized lump! Are you planning on shooting someone?"

Patrick actually looked embarrassed. She wasn't sure if it was the misconstruction of her question into a sexual innuendo or her seeing that he had a gun, but she found that amusing. At the moment, he seemed speechless. She'd seen the "damage" he'd done to the bottle of Scotch, so she wasn't surprised that he wasn't at the top of his game. She finished her drink, allowing the silence to grow, the dim light, the grim reminder of violent death on the wall, and the faint sounds of Christmas music drifting in from some Carolers on the street, was creating a eerie atmosphere. The Scotch was doing nothing to minimize that feeling, she realized.

"So, where did you get it?"

"It was a gift."

"A gift?" Lisbon looked skeptical. "Who do you know who goes around giving out guns?"

"You remember the guy who killed his wife's murderer?"

"Oh, yes. He walked because the other guy could have done it too. Both of them walked." She stared at him and nodded. "I can see how you and he could," she hesitated, "have a lot in common." She held out her hand. "May I see it?"

Jane reached around and easily ans smoothly drew the weapon and pointed it to the ground. He removed the clip, jacked the chambered round out and then stuck his finger into the chamber to insure it was clear. He then dry fired the pistol towards the floor, the click clearly demonstrating that it was empty. He reversed grip and handed it to Lisbon, butt first.

Lisbon lifted both eyebrows, impressed with his protocol. She hefted the pistol and nodded. The receiver was nicely engraved and darkly blued. She worked the slid action and felt how smooth and easy it was. "This is a fine piece," she said, "and someone has been giving you proper training. Cho is about the only person that I know of who is consistently that thorough. Now, how about a refill on the Scotch?"

Jane retrieve his piece, tucked back into his belt and gave them both a generous splash of Scotch in their respective glasses. The both took a long pull and sat the glasses down. "I think I'm beginning to feel that stuff and is it good, there, too," Lisbon smiled. "Your Santa has good tasted. Too bad she can't afford to buy it more often."

Jane smiled and put his arm around her shoulders to steady her. "I'm not surprised you're feeling it. You had almost as much as I, and my body mass is a lot more than yours."

She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. His light touch on her hair, as he smoothed a loose strand into place felt nice.

She pushed herself fully erect. "So, show me your firing stance." Not only did she want just a little more distance between them, she was really interested.

Jane nodded, faced the wall, and as if by magic, the gun appeared in his hand, aimed dead center at the smiley face.

"Oh," Lisbon said. "I'm really impressed."

Jane glared at her.

"No," she said. "I mean it! Hold your position." She walked around him, looking up and down. "Ok, she said, kicking his right foot. "Your right foot is leading. Try to make them square to your target.

Jane grimaced. "I keep doing that," he said scooting the foot into the proper position.

She stood behind him, and wrapped her arms around him and lifted his arms a little. "Use your arms to bring the gun to eye level. You won't really be aiming, but you will sight along side of the barrel at your target. No off the hip shooting. Those bullets can go anywhere. Maintain good sight picture and control."

He nodded. "I see what you mean." He dropped his arms and didn't mind a bit when she didn't remove her arms from around him. "I can see how that could make a big difference."

They stood silent, her arms around him, he with his hands over hers.

As they stood, church bells started sounding. Lisbon, with surprising strength, turned Jane around so he faced her. "Midnight," she said, looking up at him.

"Christmas," he said.

"Merry Christmas," she told him, her lips just brushing his.

"Merry Christmas, Lisbon.

She was unable to respond. Kissing and talking are incompatible.

oOOo

_A/N: Merry Christmas to all!_


End file.
